


rue de la paix

by Ireliss



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Touch-Starved, X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Movie) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireliss/pseuds/Ireliss
Summary: Post Dark Phoenix. Charles, Erik, and the winding road towards peace.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably have multiple chapters to be added when inspiration strikes! There's definitely going to be a follow-up chapter with some Genosha scenes. Huge thank you to my friends over at the Team Cherik discord for being an endless wellspring of fantastic prompts <333

Genosha is meant to be a sanctuary, undisturbed by news of the outside world, but there is a difference between _peace_ and sticking one’s head in the sand. Jean Grey had upset the delicate balance between mutants and humans. The Mutant Containment Unit is only a prelude to something much worse, Erik knows, and for the first time in years his hard-won serenity begins to fracture, memories of the past snapping at his heels. Erik keeps an ear to the ground over the next few days, maintaining a constant stream of communication with the eyes and ears he has carefully planted throughout the globe.

But the worst never comes. Instead, the headlines scream:

_ALIENS AMONG US?_

_MUTANT JEAN GREY REDEEMS SELF WITH HEROIC SACRIFICE_

_MYSTIQUE’S DEMISE: NATION MOURNS DEATH OF BELOVED HERO_

_X-MEN SAVE MUTANT CONTAINMENT UNIT, PRESIDENT ISSUES FORMAL APOLOGY TO LEADER PROFESSOR CHARLES XAVIER…_

Well well. It looks like Charles has things well in hand. His old friend had gotten adept at politicking over the past decade; Erik thinks about dropping by to make sure Genosha’s interests are being protected, but he has faith that Charles will see to it with or without Erik’s prompting.

Then, another few days later, without any warning:

_PROFESSOR CHARLES XAVIER STEPS DOWN AS HEAD OF THE XAVIER INSTITUTE_

***

Europe is an easy place to lose oneself in, a rich blend of cultures and languages that Charles immerses himself in wholly. Without his suits and absent his trademark chair, he is only another anonymous face in the crowd, another tourist drifting aimlessly from place to place.

He has no obligations now except for the ones he imposes on himself. Charles keeps a low profile. Most of his time he spends skimming through the thoughts of those around him, his own mind anchored to his body by the loosest of tethers.

As always, mutant minds sing to him the loudest, and he ghosts gently over the surface of their thoughts. _Are you happy?_ He wonders silently. _Did the X-Men – did Raven – make a difference for you?_

_(Was it all worth it?)_

He is in England revisiting old haunts when he first catches a glimpse of a steel-trap mind, reassuring in its familiarity. Charles frowns. What sort of business takes Erik so far from Genosha?

Reaching out to Erik would be as easy and natural as breathing, but Charles holds himself back, looping his telepathy firmly around his mind so not even a wisp of it is tempted to gravitate towards Erik. He’d much rather be alone right now, thank you very much. He is not so proud – no longer so proud – as to admit that he needs some time to lick his wounds. The twin losses of Raven and Jean remain raw, festering wounds, blackened with infection. _My fault,_ his thoughts whisper, sometimes in his own voice, sometimes in Hank’s vicious, growling accusations. _I’ve let all of them down._

He leaves for Amsterdam the next day.

Then Venice.

Erik’s mind never leaves his range, a persistent presence impossible to ignore, radiating gentle serenity. Charles grits his teeth and moves onto Rome.

Then, finally, he makes his stand in France, because he’s damn well not going to let himself be _stalked_ around the entirety of Europe.

***

“So where are you staying?” Erik asks after coffee and a game, which had turned into two games, then three.

Charles arches a brow. The expression is so delightfully familiar that Erik grins. “You don’t already know? Your skills are slipping.”

Erik’s grin widens into a toothy smile – he’s been doing that a lot today, so much that his muscles ache. “I do, but I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.” _And invite me there,_ he adds in the back of his head.

He doesn’t know if Charles hears, which suits him perfectly fine. This thing between them is still so delicate, so new _,_ that he’s afraid a single wrong word would send it all tumbling apart again.

And _that_ must be loud enough for Charles to pick up on, because he feels a wordless burst of reassurance in his mind, the mental equivalent of Charles squeezing his hand gently.

“I don’t know about you,” Charles says aloud, “but this is a rather lovely day and I don’t plan to waste it by lazing around at the hotel.”

“Going to sightsee?”

“Of course.” Charles hesitates, so brief that it’s almost imperceptible, then adds: “Coming?”

Erik catches himself smiling again, his heart impossibly light. “Always.”

They amble together along the streets of Paris, although what they end up doing is less sightseeing and more people-watching – an exercise made infinitely more interesting with the addition of telepathy. They trade quiet remarks, sometimes aloud, sometimes mind-to-mind (Erik makes sure to project _welcome, you’re always welcome in here_ as loudly as he can), and Charles points out the various mutations he comes across.

_There are so many of us now._ Awe and joy colour Charles’ thoughts, but Erik can taste wistfulness as well, a bittersweet acknowledgement of time passing, opportunities wasted, goals unachieved.

_Talk me through your demographic statistics again,_ Erik projects. _When are we going to finally outnumber the humans?_

He knows that Charles recognizes the attempt at distraction for what it is, but it doesn’t stop Charles from launching into a lecture on how _genetics do not work that way, Erik!_ and Erik smiles, then smiles even wider, drinking in the flow of Charles’ thoughts and the chattering birdsong and the ripple of French conversation all around them.

They indulge in a rooftop dinner, fine wine and a fine view, but as their empty plates are taken away Erik can’t help but wonder: what next? Does Charles want him close? Does he need space? Does he want Erik in the same room, the same bed?

“You’re thinking terribly hard about something,” Charles observes. The blue of his eyes contrasts beautifully against the warm candlelight.

Erik taps the side of his head. No more hiding; he’s determined to do things right this time. “Come have a look if you’re so curious.”

Charles gives him a strange, shuttered look. “You’re trying to prove yourself. You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.” Erik leans forward. “I’m serious, Charles. I really want this to work out.”

“There’s no need to make yourself uncomfortable on my account.”

“I’m not,” Erik insists, and Charles studies him thoughtfully.

“No, you’re not,” he agrees, looking surprised. “Are you absolutely su–”

Erik growls impatiently, grabbing Charles’ hand and bringing it to rest against his own temple in a mimicry of Charles’ usual gesture. The brush of Charles’ fingers is electrifying against his skin. He visualizes open doors – _do I need to throw you a welcome parade_ he grumbles, and Charles’ amusement washes over him in a warm current – and then he pictures a nondescript hotel room, then a hotel bed, cozy and piled high with blankets. Words are clumsy, so he communicates in emotions instead: wariness, concern – _don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for, anything you don’t want, I don’t know if you’re doing all right, it’s been so long, do we still want the same things? –_ desire, a tremulous hope – _I want to be with you, I want to be close to you, I want to make up for all that lost time, I want to re-learn you all over again, I love you._

And – oh, that was much more honest than he had planned, he hadn’t wanted to overwhelm Charles, but Erik can’t bring himself to regret it. Still, he relaxes his grip on Charles’ hand so he can pull back if he needs space.

Charles doesn’t. Instead, he strokes his fingers gently against Erik’s hair, and the expression on his face is full of wonder. His eyes are wet. Charles has always been easy to touch, quick to move to tears; Erik is fiercely glad that is one thing about Charles that has remained unchanged.

“Oh, my friend,” Charles says, his voice breaking, and Erik can feel his frustration at the inadequacy of spoken language, his inability to find a word that encapsulates all that Erik means to him.

He can feel something else as well, a deep, yawning darkness, an emptiness that is all too familiar.

Erik is now certain that leaving Charles alone will be a mistake.

“Want to get out of here?”

Charles hesitates, then nods. “All right, yes.”

The journey back to the hotel is a quiet one. Paris is beautiful at this time of the night, muted orange streetlamps glittering off the surface of the Seine, bathing the city’s limestone buildings in a warm, gentle glow. It’s far from Erik’s first time in Paris, but it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to slow down, to look, to _feel._

It’s almost a shame to step into the hotel. Charles pauses briefly, darting a look at the receptionist then at Erik, but Erik shakes his head and heads to the lift. No, he won’t be getting a room of his own tonight.

Charles follows, wheeling soundlessly across the lobby. The silence between them grows heavier, but it’s not a bad sort of silence, Erik thinks.

Charles doesn’t seem to agree entirely. He hesitates at the door, fingers tapping at the wheels of his chair. “I can’t promise I’ll be very good company tonight,” he warns.

“I want to be with you,” Erik says firmly.

The frown on Charles’ face doesn’t dissipate, but he opens the door and lets both of them in.

By unspoken agreement Charles has first use of the bathroom, and by the time Erik is done Charles is settled into the single bed, his back facing him. It’s clear that Charles is trying to leave the choice to him: stay or go, it’s all up to Erik.

As if it’s even a choice. Erik crosses the room in long strides and settles in behind Charles. Both of them are clothed. They’re close enough to share body heat, but they do not touch.

Charles is the first to break the stasis, turning to face Erik. His face is shadowed. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

_Be intimate,_ Charles means, and Erik shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“We don’t usually do – _this._ ” Charles makes a helpless gesture at the two of them, lying in bed together, close in a way they hadn’t been since the very first heady days of their relationship. “This might not work out, Erik, and I don’t – please, I can’t bear to lose you too.”

“You think I’m not afraid of that too?” Erik’s skin prickles uncomfortably at admitting his fear, but for Charles, he’ll do it. He’d do a lot more than that. “But you want it to work. I do too. We want the same thing. I don’t know about you, but going back to the way we were… I don’t want that.”

Charles closes his eyes, his head bowing. Erik takes it as acquiescence. He moves closer, close enough to tuck an arm around Charles, pulling him in.

With a deep shuddering breath, Charles buries his face against the crook of Erik’s neck. His shoulders shake. When Erik smooths a hand down his back, Charles shakes even harder, but not so much as a wisp of his despair bleeds through telepathically.

“You can let go,” Erik says quietly. “If you want.”

Charles shakes his head. “Just – just, hold me. Please.”

“I’m here.” Erik presses a kiss to his forehead. Even that brief contact has Charles shivering, then he’s reaching out to hold Erik in return, quiet in his desperation. Charles has always been an incredibly tactile person, full of casual confidence, always ready with a pat on the back, an arm slung around the shoulder, a hug, a gentle kiss to the temple.

But he had built himself into an icon these past few years. An idol. A figurehead, untouchable. How long has it been since he had taken off those sleek suits and simply allowed himself to – _be?_

Far too long, Erik thinks. Charles clings to him, a drowning man, and Erik holds him in return, stroking and soothing, until the shivering quiets and some of the desperation fades.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so back when we first started getting plot detail leaks all the way in late march/april and the only thing we knew was that charles retires and runs off to play chess with erik in paris, i was like "wouldn't it be cool if they ended up going up on a roadtrip!!! perfect bookends!!! and then retired to settle down on their own little farm in genosha!"
> 
> anyway this is my take on that idea... genosha domesticity will be coming i promise, it just might take me another part or two to get there!

 

They stay in France for another few days. Charles finds himself in no hurry to put down roots again, and although Erik’s thoughts turn to Genosha often, he joins Charles readily enough as Charles browses bookshops for travel catalogues and lays out a web of brochures on their hotel room table, frowning to himself as he considers flight logistics and accessibility options.

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” he tells Erik as he pages through a book on Asia. “I’ve touched minds all over the world in Cerebro, not to mention that day in Cairo… It’s simply amazing, Erik.”

“And now you want to see it all with your own two eyes?”

“That’s about the sum of it. Anywhere you’d like to go?”

Erik considers. “Somewhere new. Not Europe.”

And Charles has no particular desire to return to the Americas just yet, so that narrows down their options considerably. He looks through the book on Asian travel destinations with renewed interest. “How long do you have until you need to return to Genosha?”

Erik grins. He’s done that often these past few days. It’s endearingly toothy. “Oh, they’ll manage without me.”

“You’re not worried? The Mutant Containment Unit…”

“Would face enormous backlash if they made any moves on Genosha,” Erik says firmly, although Charles can tell he’s less confident than he sounds. “In humanity’s eyes, we’re heroes once again. Your doing?”

“You know how fickle the media is.” Charles sets the book down, rubbing his eyes wearily. Tension knots in his chest. He should be back there, safeguarding their future, cleaning up h-

Erik leans across him, snagging a book on Africa. “They are. Now, travel destinations?”

Did he hear that right? Charles stares at Erik openly. “What, no plans for a pre-emptive strike? No threats on national television, any of that ring a bell?”

“Please,” Erik scoffs, “it’s been years. We’ll defend ourselves if attacked, with deadly force if we have to, but for now, our best bet is to stay unnoticed.”

“You… You sound like me.”

“No, I sound like how you _were,”_ Erik corrects, without malice. “Your philosophies changed. You and your X-Men are all about making a public spectacle.”

“And look where that got us.”

“To a better place,” Erik insists, a stubborn set to his features that is achingly, wonderfully familiar. “Mutants as _heroes._ Did we ever think we could achieve that back in the sixties?”

“I did,” Charles mutters, but he was so bloody _optimistic_ back then. It’s hard to remember where he got the energy from.

Erik chuckles, stubbornness melting into a fond smile, but there’s a shadow of regret and guilt tinging his thoughts that Charles wants to smooth away. “So you did. Some part of me wanted to believe you even back then, you know.”

“But you were right in the end.” Humans and their fear, their weapons. Some days Charles is just so tired of it all. He itches for a drink; Charles pushes away from the table, wheeling to the room’s minibar.

“I was.” Erik’s eyes bore holes into the back of Charles’ head. “But so were you.”

_That_ gets Charles’ attention. He pauses, bottle of whiskey still in hand. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Erik crosses the room in long strides. He takes the bottle from Charles and sets it down, then kneels and cups Charles’ face between gentle hands. “You’ve done so much good for us. Genosha wouldn’t exist if not for the goodwill you’ve cultivated.”

There’s a lump in Charles’ throat which he swallows down. God, he wants that drink so badly. “It’s not enough. Just one slip, one little _accident–”_

“And a few years ago, they didn’t even need an excuse to hunt us down.” Erik’s thumb brushes across his cheek, impossibly gentle. “It’s not perfect. But it’s progress.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

“No,” Erik admits. “But I had a taste of peace in Poland and I decided I wanted it again. You’re not the only one who’s tired, old friend.”

And this time it’s Charles who reaches out, tracing one of the fine lines around Erik’s eyes that had been absent the last time they had been this close, years ago, before Erik’s isolationism and Charles’ growing preoccupation with his political image had caused them to gradually drift apart. Erik closes his eyes, tilting his head into the touch. He adds: “I’ve kept up with your speeches over the years. You’ve always been good at playing nice, but on the inside you’re angry, aren’t you? Bitter.” Erik opens his eyes again, holding Charles’ gaze as he sends him a memory – ‘ _damn sight better than the names you used to call us,’ then the ensuing ripple of awkward laughter throughout the room –_ and Charles looks away, discomfited.

If anyone else had accused him of anger, Charles would have denied it with a benign smile and a gentle rebuke, but this is Erik.

And he’s absolutely right. Behind the mask of charming, serene Professor X, Charles is furious, at himself and at the world. “Nothing I do, nothing we do, is ever enough for them,” he says in carefully measured tones, still determined to cling onto his serenity. His control. “No, I still don’t believe in violence. But what we have now, this thing I’ve created – it simply isn’t sustainable.” He’s set the X-Men up as heroes and idols, but all heroes inevitably fall. Someday the shine will wear off, someday humanity will realize they are every bit as flawed and _human_ as anyone else, and the tide of public sentiment will turn against them once more.

He’s set his students up to fail and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

Charles wonders if Erik will offer some comforting remark, but Erik only nods. “You’re right,” he says simply. “But you can’t solve it by yourself. You need to trust that your students can handle whatever the humans throw at them.”

“I should be with them, I was the one wh-”

“What you should do is _rest,”_ Erik interrupts. He stands, hands falling back to his side, and for one foolish moment Charles almost chases after his touch. He folds his hands on his lap as Erik continues. “I’m serious, you need to take a step back. You’ve been involved in the fight for so long that it’s clouded your vision. Take that trip around the world. Get some perspective.” His mouth quirks. “Your students will survive, they aren’t entirely incompetent.”

“High praise, coming from you.” Charles shakes his head. “You really think I should go?”

“ _We_ should go,” Erik corrects. “And yes. Think about crop rotations, letting fields lay fallow to recover.” A glimpse of Genosha’s farms flash through Erik’s mind, tantalizingly green. “I can’t see the future, that’s not my power, and I don’t know if your retirement will stick. But I’m telling you. You need a break.”

A harsh exhale. “I don’t deserve one.”

“Yet you were the one who chose to retire. Face it, Charles. Part of you knows I’m right.”

“…I couldn’t bear to stay,” Charles admits, very quietly. He knows himself; he was at the beginning of a downward spiral, and he knows where that path leads.

It scares him. He doesn’t want to go back to the empty days of Vietnam, never again.

 “You made the right choice,” Erik insists, conviction lighting his mind. “Stop thinking you abandoned them, or that you’re weak or selfish. It’s getting old.”

That hits a little too close to home. “And you always say you aren’t the psychic.” He tries for light and jesting, but it falls flat, and Erik gives him a wry smile.

“Try being less predictable.”

“No. No, I don’t think I am,” Charles says thoughtfully. “No one else would accuse me of insecurity. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Nobody knows you like I do.”

“Confident, aren’t we?”

“It’s only the truth.” Erik gives him another wry smile, but the look in his eyes is quiet and fond.

Charles shakes his head, but he’s surprised to find he’s smiling as well. “You’ve gotten sentimental.”

“Building Genosha gave me a new perspective on some things.” Charles almost thinks that’s another nudge for him to drop everything and move into Erik’s little island paradise, but Erik is thinking very pointedly about the pile of travel brochures waiting for him on the desk.

This isn’t settled yet, not even close, but Charles doesn’t really want to argue over his retirement. If nothing else, looking through the brochures will at least give his hands something to do. He wheels away from the minibar and back to the table.

Erik feigns surprise. “What, you’re actually going to take my advice?”

“As I recall, the trip was my idea in the first place,” Charles says archly. “Come here and make yourself useful, half of these are in French and yours is better than mine.”

“Then why did you get them?”

“Well, I have you, don’t I?”

He feels Erik’s smile as much as he sees it, a delicate bloom of warmth in his mind.

***

Although Charles had insisted they move into a room with two beds after the first night – “I’m sorry, Erik, but I won’t risk bringing any more controversy to the school right now” – Erik has spent every single night since then falling asleep next to the sound of Charles’ heartbeat, bodies tucked in close together, sharing warmth. Inevitably, in his sleep Erik gravitates even closer towards Charles, and they wake in the morning with limbs entangled, Erik’s heart light with joy as he takes in the sight of Charles sleepy-eyed and rumpled.

Tonight, however, Charles is the one to carefully pull himself closer. Erik smiles into the gentle darkness of the room as Charles curls against his back, chin tucked against the crook of his shoulder. It’s the first time Charles had initiated this sort of closeness in…years. Maybe even since Cuba. Their meetings since then have always been sporadic, fiery things. Nobody else makes his temper flare like Charles does. Nobody else makes his heart beat as fast, adrenaline rushing dizzyingly through his blood.

Conversely, nobody brings him the same degree of peace as Charles does.

“Sometimes, I thought we’d never have this again,” Charles says, a confession murmured into the dark.

_So did I,_ Erik thinks privately, but out loud he says: “The time wasn’t right before.”

Charles’ chin digs into his shoulder with a bit more force. “And you get to decide that on your own, don’t you?”

It would be so easy to snap back – _pot and kettle, Charles; I’m not the controlling one here –_ in a way, it would be comforting to fall back into their old, familiar patterns of bickering and sniping. Nothing gets his blood pumping the same way a good argument with Charles does.

But he didn’t come all the way to Paris just so they can continue circling each other the same way they had for the past three decades. Although it’s in Erik’s nature to fight to the bitter end, for Charles, he’s willing to concede ground. “ _I_ wasn’t ready.”

Not after Cuba, when everything had been too red and raw, and he had been consumed by the need to protect their people, to build something for himself, too restless to settle down.

Not after Trask and his Sentinels, when Erik was still fresh out of solitary. The humans had stolen something from him there. Uncontrollable shifts in mood, his thoughts circling around and around with obsessive focus on a single topic, a creeping dread in the pit of his stomach whenever he faces human interaction more personal than giving a speech in front of a camera – once, he looked up the effects associated with isolation and found himself checking off symptoms like a macabre grocery list. To this day Erik still has to retreat into dark, closed spaces sometimes, when things just become too _much._ No, he couldn’t slink back to Charles then. He needs Charles to be his equal, not his caretaker.

Then…Poland. Cairo. He still does not remember much of the aftermath, except that being around Charles and his promises of _home_ had been too stark a reminder of the family he had just lost. He had thrown himself into the task of founding Genosha. As Charles’ star rose and rose, Erik had retreated increasingly further into his isolation.

And so they had drifted, Charles irritated by Erik’s refusal to engage with the wider world, Erik annoyed by the way Charles runs himself and his team ragged pandering to the humans, and his stubborn refusal to never, ever admit that he’s beginning to flounder under the weight of the world’s expectations.

But Charles has apologised, and even if he hadn’t, Erik will not abandon him to grieve alone.

Which brings them to now. He doesn’t know how much Charles has gleaned from his mind, but the sharp pressure of Charles’ chin softens, and Charles rests the side of his head against Erik’s shoulder. “You’re ready now?”

“Have been for a while. But I had Genosha to think about, and you had your school and your politics. I wasn’t going to ask you to drop everything and come with me.”

“…I wish you had.”

“Would you have come?”

“I…No. I couldn’t have left my work.” Charles exhales lowly, warm breath ruffling the across the fine hairs at Erik’s nape. “But I would have appreciated hearing the offer, Erik, deeply so. Even with my telepathy, sometimes I wonder if you’ve had enough of me.”

It’s not like Charles to be so insecure. Erik turns so that he lies on his back, pulling Charles in to press a kiss against his temple. “No. Never.”

Charles shivers, his grip tightening. “Do you ever wonder if things could have gone differently? All those years, wasted.”

“Sometimes,” Erik answers honestly, even though he is not usually one to dwell on the path untaken. Charles, as always, is the exception to everything. “But they weren’t _wasted_ years. We’ve both achieved so much by going down our separate paths.”

“And what if we could have achieved even more together?”

“What’s done is done.”

“That’s hardly an answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” He turns to look at Charles properly. “I can’t change the past.” And even if he could, he doesn’t know if he would; he had spent so much of his early adulthood being utterly defined by Shaw that the thought of turning around right away and dedicating himself to Charles wholly was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. He simply wasn’t _ready._

Charles is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, you’re right. The only thing we can do now is focus on the future.”

“Mm. Northern Europe?”

A quiet laugh. “You’re even more excited about traveling than I am, I swear. I thought you said no to Europe?”

“I haven’t spent as much time north.” Erik nudges a mental image in Charles’ direction: endless blue seas and skies, quiet serenity. Chess by the coastline, cold nights spent together under the blankets.

He can feel Charles thinking, and eventually Charles volunteers images of his own: historical sites, night markets, quiet villages. _Iceland has some lovely hot springs, doesn’t it?_

_You want a spa vacation?_

_I don’t see why not._ Charles pushes a memory from earlier in the afternoon at him, glossy printed pages on Indonesia and Thailand and Japan proclaiming _health benefits_ and _rejuvenation._

Erik brings up memories of his own and together they bat ideas back and forth, Charles’ telepathy linking their minds in a way that is startlingly intimate considering they’re not doing anything more serious than friendly bickering over travel destinations.

Intimate, but it also feels like a homecoming.

Erik isn’t sure which of them falls asleep first, but when he wakes the next morning to Charles’ arms around him, golden sunlight slanting onto his face, Erik is suddenly, unaccountably breathless with wonder.

This is _real._ It took them half a lifetime, but they made it here. Back to each other.

Beside him, Charles is frowning, exhaustion and sorrow etching worn lines across his face even in his sleep. Erik kisses his forehead, and some of the wrinkles smooth away. Charles’ lashes flutter. The sense of his presence in the room sharpens and coalesces as he stirs awake, blinking sleepily at Erik.

“Hello there,” Charles says softly. He looks a little bemused at Erik’s closeness, but his eyes are as blue as they ever were, and Erik can see his own wonderment reflected back at him.

“Hello yourself.” Erik closes the last bit of the distance between them, kissing Charles a slow and sweet good morning.


End file.
